


A Sound in the Dark

by RideBoldlyRide



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, I still have my ZW entries to finish!, I swear i'm going to go back to my other stuff after this, Pain, Rocky start, The only real warning is this has indications of the PTSD we expect all those kids to have, This one shot has taken over my last two days, Zutara, but healing always is, growing relationship, heartwarming ending, it's painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RideBoldlyRide/pseuds/RideBoldlyRide
Summary: It's a cry in the night, a pained sound... It's source is easily acknowledged, but what is Katara going to do about it?
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 141





	A Sound in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot has been eating at my life for the last two days, and I hope it is worth it for you, my readers!
> 
> A special thanks to my beta, LordElmo on Tumblr. They've been a life saver!!<3

The first time she hears it, it’s from across the campsite, and she awakes with a start. It’s not articulate, not much more than a whimper, but it’s a foreign noise. Upright, scanning the stone work of the Western Air Temple, she’s met only with the muffled sound of the nearby fountain, and the ever so gentle crackle from the embers of the long-dead campfire. Occasionally, the sound is punctuated by a loud snore- Toph’s cacophonous breathing echoed easily in these walls. All-in-all, Katara reasoned, there was nothing so out of place that it should have roused her so fiercely that she was already on the balls of her feet, untangled from her bedroll. 

She started to sit back down, certain that it was a sound from her subconscious dancing on that precarious edge of sleep, when she heard it again. This time, she recognized the source as close by. Scanning the edge, her blue eyes pierced the dark starting to settle, mind racing to place the sound. 

And again.

But this time she spotted it’s source. He had twitched, pulling tighter into himself, his back to her. 

The banished prince.

Innately, she felt the familiar tug to help, to see what was wrong, to break the spell of the demon haunting him in his sleep. However, the anger that sat across her shoulders and held its hands tight to her neck, stayed her. Instead, she let the scared prince face off his monsters in the light of the moon. 

She didn’t sleep well that night.

* * *

The second time she hears it, it’s echoing down empty abandoned crimson halls. The moonlight cast the reds into dull browns - the color of old blood. It was a haunting sound, as if the demons that rest behind his eyes were trying to escape, and only made worse by the disconcerting environment. She shook off the fear that tried to take hold, and this time, she moved to his door, slowly pushing it open. 

In the wash from the same moonlight, his pale skin glistened, a layer of sweat ghosting on top. He was shirtless, curled on his side, the sheets wrapped up in his evident struggle. Dark tendrils of his hair clung to his forehead, his brow furrowed deeply. With a frightened sound, much like a dying animal, he clenched his body tighter, desperate hands clinging on to his face. 

She had noticed before that he kept his nails short- cropped so tight to the nail bed that there was hardly any white. Katara had always assumed it had to do with wielding the dao swords. Now she wondered, as he clawed at the scar upon the side of his face, contorting into a pained grimace, if it was also partially because of these nightly terrors. Had they been any longer, it would have painted his face red in the morning. 

Moving forward, she hesitantly sat at the edge of his bed. Pulling from the dank humidity of the stale room’s air, she froze a thin layer upon his forehead. He soothed for a moment, but then almost as rapidly, let out another of the sounds, as he collapsed into himself. 

No, not a dying animal, she amended. No, this was a scared child - a muffled scream. 

Katara’s heart dropped. 

As his hands reached once more for the misshapen skin, she intercepted them with her own, soothing words on her lips. Thumbs brushing calloused knuckles, soft spoken words, cooling touches of ice; slowly the young man stilled. 

Withdrawing once she was content with his settled state, she left him to go find her own bed, the only evidence of her presence was the warm, wrinkled spot on the edge of his bed. 

She sleeps uneasily that night.

* * *

The third time she hears it, it’s bouncing off the waters, the rocks, the sand. It’s accompanied by the roar of fire, the fury of the sun on earth. He’s awake, this time, and she finds that his demons, while still unnamed to her, suddenly press in on her back, and she feels their fingers at her throat. An urgency slips into her step as she presses down the stairs of the house. But as soon as her feet hit the sand, their presence disappears.

She knows why.

He’s standing alone, attempting to breathe - no, to slow his breathing - but even she can see the small puffs of fire that escape his lips at every exhale. In the almost non-existent light of the slivered moon, he’s more of a silhouette than a person. His shoulders raise into his ears, and the sound is growing again in his throat.

It’s not a child’s scream this time, but she can hear it there still, on the edges of the noise. 

Instead of collapsing, or curling into himself, he strikes out, running through katas she’s seen him do now hundreds of times. His strikes are strong, harsh, unforgiving. He’s fighting harder than she ever saw him strike as a teacher. She hovers back, letting him face down his own frustration. In the dark night, his flames blossomed across the water, his feet firm but quick on the edge of the surf. The sizzle of the salty water brought a tang to the air, even as the sound was swallowed up by the waves. Composed strikes began to slip, and his well-formed illusion of control fell away. Soon, his blows were loose, angry, lost. The sound of exertion became groans, sobs.

The night’s escapade to the playhouse had failed to raise their moods, she knew, but for Zuko it had seemed to raise the demons of his subconscious to the moonlight. Or maybe, she wondered, that the failing moonlight seemed to encourage their presence. Either way, they rode his shoulders like they had hers, and with a kick, a turn, and a punch, Zuko stopped, staring out at the inky sea, his arm still extended. Slowly, it fell, and his motion stopped, save for his heaving breath. 

There was a lull in the air, and she knew that the softened waves were not of her making. No, La felt pity, Katara was certain, her waves placating, soothing at the firebender’s feet. Every exhale, she noticed that he was silhouetted by his own fire. Hands clenched, he trembled as he attempted to reign in control, but his breath grew shallower, faster, and she found herself leaning away, expecting an explosive roar. Instead, he plummeted to his knees and hands, wrists deep in the surf, a choked whimper on his lips. 

In that moment, she balanced as though on a precipice. Her feet turned, prepared to flee back up the stairs, to leave the young man to stare down his demons. But her head, her eyes, her shoulders, they turned towards him, resolute. Sucking in a desperate breath, she nodded only to herself, moving to his side. Her feet splashed in the water as she entered the surf. The tide had begun to rise, and by the time she had reached his side, the water was inching up his forearms. He had not moved, save for the slight tremble in his shoulders.

Kneeling at his side, Katara tentatively rested a hand on his shoulder. At the feeling of her hand against his bare skin, he started. Wide eyes, rimmed with red, turned to her. Tears streaked freely down his cheeks. Hungrily, his gaze searched her face for something, some sort of understanding. He seemed surprised when he found it. 

Gently, she brought a hand to his scarred cheek. Golden eyes fluttered shut at her touch. Stilled, but only for a moment, blue eyes searched his features, trying to find the touch of the demons that tormented him. And then his face crumpled, turning into her palm. It was a pained, muffled sound that escaped his lips, and she felt it resonate deep within her. Without thinking, she directed him towards her, and he moved without resistance. 

It was a slow motion at first, but then he fell into her, his face against her shoulder, his arms around her waist. He clung like his life depended on her presence. Her fingers carded through his dark mop of hair. 

Every time she felt him shake, she pulled him in tighter.

She slept little that night.

* * *

The fourth time she hears it, her eyes are drooping, heavy with exhaustion and emotion. She’s knitting him back together, leaving little pieces of herself in the stitches. His body is warm, even under her cool touch, and she can feel the Qi in all the wrong places, the wrong way, just… wrong. 

It’s agonizing, and she can feel the demon on her back again, and this time it chokes her with it’s words in place of fingers. ( _ your fault, stupid, stupid, made him vulnerable, sacrificed himself, just like Mom, just like all the other times, its all your fault _ .) He had stood, proud and seemingly steady, for those moments before his shell of a sister, even as they had walked away, and Katara felt that maybe they could win, win entirely. Until on his third stair, he’d stumbled, clutching at his chest, at the ragged hole, because she had failed him. He convulsed, as if struck anew by electricity. It had taken all of her waning strength to pull him into the cover of the overhang, before the threatening clouds began to crackle. 

Across the courtyard, even though out of sight, the sister’s mewling sobs morphed into frenetic laughter, as the rain began to fall, and the sky began to blaze with natural lightning.

There Katara kneeled, pulling every bit of fresh water from the falling rain onto her hands, desperately trying to hold the shattering young man together. He was burning, hot, bright, too hot, too bright. Water pulled away the scorched blood from his heart and lungs, and she tried,  _ spirits, she was trying, Tui, Yue, she was trying _ ! 

The sound hits her differently this time, it feels personal, private, guttural. Fear nips at the back of her mind - is she hurting him? Blue eyes shine bright, as she turns to look, blinking past the fog of tears. His brow is furrowed, but his lips are pressed tightly together. Her moment of distraction costs her, and she feels some of the dead blood slip through her fingers. It bursts like a spark on his lungs, and he jolts in pain. 

She hears the sound again. His lips haven’t moved. This wasn’t his sound, this time. 

Two pieces of her soul come together in a crash, and her nails dig into his flesh as the gentle knitting she was doing isn’t enough. She holds him together by pure, brute will, and the sound, the heartbreaking noise escapes her lips again.

Katara doesn’t sleep that night. She wonders when she’ll ever sleep again.

* * *

The fifth time she hears it, her hands fly across the expanse, even before she is completely awake. They are heavy, bone-weary, and the precise touch has given way to gross motions. Her hands are clawing, patting across silk, cloth, pillows, until it reaches her destination. Eyelids finally starting to part, she looks through the gloom of the room. His silhouette is there, now wrapped in cloth, his chest rising and falling, and she allows herself the little bit of glee in her heart -- she had managed to save him, even if it was by pure will. 

But the sound that escaped him (she checked with her other hand, this time her own lips remained sealed), told her he was still broken. She wondered if he would ever be whole. This type of broken she couldn’t heal, she knew, but she could hold him together while he fell apart. 

Slowly, gently, she pulled herself closer to him, from where she had collapsed, strewn across his bed. She was worn, threadbare, but there was nothing to stop her from reaching his side. He turned as the sound escaped his lips again, curling as tightly as his wound would allow. Slender hands slid into his as they reached for his face, the strangled sound still slipping from him.

She brings him in tight, and her words of comfort are mumbled and disjointed through tired lips. Katara doubted there was even any sense to her words, but they helped drown out the sound in both of their ears. Maybe, just maybe, if she drowned out the sound, he could start to heal. 

She was willing to try. Whatever that meant, however long that meant. 

Fingers ran lazy circles across his back, his dug into her shoulder blades. Lips pressed to his hairline, his trembled against her shoulder. The words tumbled from her, rising and falling like a wave. Slowly, he began to still.

Katara doesn’t remember sleeping that night, only the black of the abyss.

* * *

The sixth time she hears it (and everytime after), she is already at his side. 

It has become a dance, she thinks, and she is willing to be his partner. His sounds burn from fire and red and agony, and most recently, like her, of electricity. Hers, yes, hold the blue-white, but also hold the rain, the snow, the ash. It’s a sound that she has come to expect, and now, now they know how to hold each other together as the other tumbles apart. 

She’s still broken, still healing, but when he holds her, even as the blue-white dances behind her eyes, she feels like she’s being pieced back together again. When she opens her eyes, she meets amber, and she knows. 

Tonight, he holds her, but tomorrow, it may be her holding him. It’s the only way they can live, it’s the only way they want to. 

Her breath evens out, but he still holds her. She reaches down, fingers brushing the slight and growing swell of her belly, and Katara can feel the glow somewhere below her navel. Her thoughts still. If they were lucky, if they held each other tight enough, maybe their little one would never have to know the sounds of a broken heart, a shattered spirit, a lost innocence. Maybe the only tears they would shed would be over skinned knees, bruised elbows. 

She would sleep better that night, Katara knew, for Zuko was only a breath away.


End file.
